A couple exited the dining room and the sound of laughter and plates clinking filled the lobby. "You wouldn't know it. That's the busiest I've seen the dining room since I've been here."
Evie smiled. "We've got the Quorkie Swamp Monster on special today."
I raised my brows. "Is it better than the Boxing Quackers I had on Tuesday?" The Inn's cook Eugene created bizarre breakfast dishes with even crazier names. The Boxing Quackers was a two-duck-egg scramble drizzled in truffle oil.
"It's our bestseller."
My stomach growled. "Anything is better than the old jerky and whiskey I stole from the hut."
Evie waved her hand toward the dining room. “Get in there before it sells out. You’ll need your strength for your first game tonight.”
“My first game? I guess bad news travels fast.”
“Not that fast.” Evie laughed. “My husband is the goalie. He said you’re pretty decent.”
Decent. It was a compliment. My lips turned up. “You’re married to Nick Tinsel?”
“The one and only. He’s excited to have you on the roster. Now, go get a Quorkie and some rest. You’ve got some big skates to fill.”
I got to the stairs, then Evie called out.
“Oh, and Beckett. No pressure, but the town’s biggest hockey fan will be there tonight.”
Resting my hand on the bannister, a wave of exhaustion hit me. “Who is that?”
“GJ. My grandmother.”
“Ah, the elusive Innkeeper. I’ll bring my A-game, Evie.”
She grinned and turned her attention to a guest. I dragged my sorry ass upstairs and directly into the shower.
The hot water and my mint soap brought me back to life. I was tired, but in the best way possible. As the water streamed over my head and down my back, I rested my hand on the tile wall. Over the last twenty-four hours, I’d battled at least eight raging hard-ons, and this morning’s case of morning wood had left my dick throbbing even harder than my lower back.
I needed food and some sleep, but even more, I needed Clara. Gripping my shaft, I first replayed the moment her body slammed into mine. Then I remembered the squeal she’d let out when I’d yanked her through my legs and into the air. The lasttime we’d fucked, we were young and inexperienced. I wondered if she’d still make the same sweet moans that she did fifteen years ago.
With my dick gripped in my fist, it only took a few pumps before my body shuddered and exhaustion fully set in. But I couldn’t sleep yet. My to-do list was long: devour a Swamp Monster, draft a clause, and play in my inaugural game with the Beardog Growlers.
After lunch, I bundled up and walked to Charlotte’s real estate office. She’d agreed to help me draft the new clause. I could’ve done it myself, but part of me wanted to ensure that Charlotte was fully on board with the new plan. She did have Logan’s ear, after all.
The twenty-foot Christmas tree glowed with warm white lights and practically brushed the vaulted ceilings of the renovated heritage building. When I was a kid, the building that housed Charlotte’s brokerage had been an auto parts shop. Today, there was no sign of its past life in its exposed brick and sleek glass bannisters. Trendy Edison bulbs burned in the modern chandelier that hung from the ceiling.
“Up here!” Charlotte waved from the loft that overlooked the lobby. Upstairs, Charlotte sat behind her desk. She spun her laptop around as I took a seat across from her.
“Okay, Shepherd. I’ve done the impossible. I think I’ve crafted a clause that will make everyone happy.”
I leaned in, scanning the legal jargon. It was aggressive. The highlights were subsidized rates not to exceed twenty percent of market value and priority booking windows for non-profit youth organizations.
“I’m impressed. Mouser, the King's lawyer will probably take credit for it, though.” I chuckled.
“Let him.” She removed her reading glasses. “But Beck, we’ve got a problem.”
“What is it?”
She folded her hands. “Even with this clause, people are sentimental. They don’t want a new arena. They want their arena. If the vote goes south tomorrow, this deal dies. Then, if your boss pulls out, the town gets nothing. No new rink. No economic development.”
I rubbed my temples. “Charlotte. It’s just a building.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is it? Maybe to you. It also sits on prime real estate. If anything, that land should be allocated to affordable housing, not more vacation homes owned by out-of-towners. Do you want to know what I think?”
